


The Spark that Yearns

by JR Granger (JR_Granger)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, Ghosts, M/M, Magic!Stiles, Matchmaking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-04
Updated: 2013-11-04
Packaged: 2017-12-31 13:05:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1032031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JR_Granger/pseuds/JR%20Granger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>According to the Celts, Samhain (or Halloween, as we call it) is a day to celebrate and communicate with the dead. Stiles thought that was pretty cool -- until he gets a visit from one of the (many) dead Hales and she (and his mom, which, what??) decides to do some meddling to get him and Derek together. Which he would be all for except Laura and Stiles' mom are supposed to be dead. Needless to say, the night takes a turn for the weird.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Spark that Yearns

            Stiles has always loved Halloween. There’s just something about a night filled with people, children and adults alike, pretending to be people and creatures they’re not. Plus Stiles is always something awesome like Batman. But ever since Scott was bit, and Stiles has been doing all this research into the supernatural world, it’s even more fun because it turns out there are all kinds of reasons behind the holiday, and other holidays that take place the same night.

            Like All Hallow’s Eve. For the Christians it’s a night to celebrate the dead. But it’s also the day that the demon Samhain rules the Earth and devours souls. Parents keep their children inside, wear masks to hide from the demon (because apparently he can’t see your soul if you’re wearing a mask?), carve pumpkins to worship him, and leave sweets outside their doors for him. Eventually the legend faded but the tradition kept and turned into the Halloween celebrated today.

            Okay, so Stiles may have learned all that on _Supernatural._ But who’s to say there’s not some truth behind it?

            There is a holiday called Samhain though. It’s celebrated by the Celts, so it’s a pagan holiday, and it does in fact celebrate the dead. The Celts believed that the veil or whatever between Earth and the Otherworld was particularly thin, allowing the spirits to communicate with the living. They even had this big feast where the living and the dead could mingle and, well, feast. Well, maybe the spirits didn’t feast, but that’s not really the point – it was that the dead were celebrated.

            Oh, and the Druids – you know, the dudes that helped the werewolf packs, that were the regents or whatever – they lit bonfires on Samhain with special food and animal sacrifices and the people wore different animal skins till they went back home and lit their fires from the “sacred” bonfire the Druids lit as some sort of protection.

            The point is that October 31st is a pretty badass day and it will always be one of his favorites. Every year he visits his mom’s grave because it was her favorite holiday, but now it seems even more appropriate since it’s a day to celebrate the dead.

            So he’s getting in the Jeep, ready to head over to the cemetery before the rounds start in the neighborhood, when he remembers Laura Hale. Now, being the meddler that he is, Stiles decides to send Derek a text, telling him he should chill with his sister’s grave for the night, reminisce about chasing rabbits or something, because tonight’s the perfect time, being a celebration of the dead and all. By the time he reaches his mom’s grave he doesn’t have a reply so he counts that as a win because if he had really pushed a button Derek would have threatened to rip his throat out again or something.

            Sitting down next to the tombstone – grave marker – headstone – man, are there any non-creepy words for that? Sitting down, Stiles leans back against the stone and starts talking. He updates her on the drama that is Scott and Allison – how they’re both moping at him still, wanting to talk to each other but both too stubborn to be the first one to break, the idiots – and how Lydia’s getting over being mopey about Jackson leaving and is instead translating the entire bestiary. He tells her he hasn’t seen creepy, undead Peter in awhile but he knows he’s out there somewhere, being like a thousand times as creepy as Derek. He tells her about how frustrated he is over the fact the only news he gets on Derek is whatever Scott passes on from Isaac, which isn’t much because Scott is still not getting on with Derek for whatever reason. Then he tells her how frustrated he is with himself for being frustrated about not seeing Derek for about as long as he hasn’t seen Peter.

            It’s easy to say Stiles has a lot of frustrated, confusing feelings when it comes to the elusive alpha.

            He stays for about an hour before he looks at his phone and sees it’s about time for him to get home so he can pass out candy since dad’ll be working till the next morning.

            By the time trick-or-treating is over Stiles is starving so he heads to the kitchen. There’s not really much to make for just one person (he really needs to stop at the store soon), so he goes with the classic of Easy Mac. And ramen. Because it’s already been established that he’s famished. (And he totally didn’t mean to rhyme there.)

            Anyway, he’s just taking up the Easy Mac and putting in the water to heat it up for the ramen when his phone rings, and he absolutely knows whom it is because of the ringtone (“Don’t Worry, Be Happy”).

            Huffing, Stiles starts the microwave and starts mixing in his cheese before answering the call. “Well if it isn’t our resident sourwolf,” he remarks, cradling the phone between his ear and shoulder. “Long time, no see or speak. I was starting to think Peter ate you or something. Or you just up and left without saying anything. Wouldn’t be surprised. I mean it’s not like you have manners or anything. I mean I know you were literally raised by wolves and all, but that’s no excuse man.”

_“Stiles--”_

            He keeps talking, mouth now full of Easy Mac. “Also, I cannot tell you how incredibly rude it is to ignore a person’s texts for, let’s see, four months now? Because, again, I know you don’t have manners, and we’re not exactly friends, but you could’ve at least sent a little something, like a ‘go away Stiles’. That one is a class, my friend, never gets old. Or a ‘stop texting me Stiles’. Or you could’ve threatened me with bodily harm.”

_“Stiles!”_

            “Now, I know it wouldn’t be the same as actually shoving me into a wall, but it’s still a little tradition of ours, you know?” Now to wait for the ramen. “But whatever, I guess you’re too busy off being a sourwolf, which is cool, because, I mean, I got plenty on my plate without you and your wealth of problems but, again, rude to just poof out of existence, dude.”

            **“ _Stiles!_ ”** Derek growls.

            “What?” he asks around another mouthful.

            _“We have a problem.”_

            He groans. “Dude, seriously? Is that all you call me for, supernatural help? And even then, when you have absolutely no one else to go to? Way to make a girl feel special, Hale.”

_“This isn’t a time for jokes, Stiles.”_

            He can feel the death glare, flashing red eyes and all, through the phone. He rolls his own eyes. “Yeah, yeah, that’s what you always say, you fun sucker you.”

            _“Stiles,”_ Derek says, teeth clearly gritted.

            “Fine, fine, what’s the big emergency?”

            Stiles could swear Derek actually hesitates before he answers but that’s just silly; Derek doesn’t beat around the bush, doesn’t pull punches, that’s more Stiles’ thing. But he definitely pauses before answering.

_“You’re mother is in my living room.”_

            It has been a long time since Stiles has been truly lost for words -- not just clamoring to say too much at once, actually not knowing what to say – but this is definitely one of the rare instances. Of course, it doesn’t last long before the anger sets in, more than fueling his vocal chords back up.

            “Really. My mother’s in your living room. Real funny, Derek. Cute. Really. _Hilarious._ ” Lifting his head off his shoulder, Stiles grips the phone in one hand and his fork in the other, both clenched tight to the point of which he hears the case creak slightly and feels the fork start to bend. “You know, I really didn’t picture you being the type of person to pull something like this, especially considering all that went down with the fire and Peter and everything – and, actually, I could’ve pictured Peter doing something like this, but you?” He gives a bark of a laugh, a rough mixture of pissed off and hurt.

            _“I’m not lying,”_ Derek replies, and he actually sounds like he’s telling the truth, but he can’t be, he just can’t, because no.

            Laughing harshly again, Stiles turns around to lean against the counter. “Right. Do you really expect me to believe my _dead_ mother just decided to --”

            He cuts himself off when he looks up at the doorway and sees a vaguely familiar women standing there – only vaguely because the only time he saw her she was dead and just half a body.

            “Hi,” she says when Stiles just stands there, mouth gaping, Derek growling in his ear, demanding to know why he broke off so suddenly, her blue/green/hazel eyes remarkably similar to her brother’s examining him. “You must be Stiles.”

            Voice shaky, Stiles interrupts, not breaking the gaze. “Derek, y-your sister is standing in my kitchen _and she knows my name._ ”

            The answer is immediate. “I’ll be there in five minutes.” Then the call ends with the dial tone.

 

* * *

 

            Pacing the room while waiting for Derek, Stiles stays as far away from Laura as possible because, y’know, she could be a rabid zombie or something and he’d really rather not be zombified, thank you.

            She chuckles like she knows what he’s thinking. “I’m not gonna eat you or anything.”

            He can feel her considering look, and it sends a shiver down his spine – and not the good kind, like the ones Derek gives him and he ignores. “Thanks, but uh no thanks, I’ll just stay over here if you don’t mind. I’d make a horrible zombie, a horrible werewolf, and most definitely a horrible zombie werewolf. He looks up to see a look Derek’s given him often: the _don’t be an idiot_ combined with _I can’t believe I put up with you_. A classic, really.

            “Anyway,” she continues like he hadn’t just spoken, “it doesn’t look like you have much meat on your bones, so I doubt you would taste very good even if I were a zombie.”

            Still pacing, because that really isn’t the creepiest thing he’s had a werewolf say to him, Stiles just gives a fake laugh. “Hah, yeah, no. I’m just pale skin, fragile bones, and sarcasm; I’d probably be all stringy and bitter and spoiled.”

            Laura snorts. “Well that explains it,” she mutters, just loud enough for him to hear.

            “Explains what?” he asks, looking up briefly as he passes.

            “You’re just his type. Kinda surprised he hasn’t made a move yet.” Pausing like she thinking about it, Laura shakes her head. “Actually, on second thought, no I’m not. He really is bad at this sort of thing, especially after that bitch.”

            Stumbling to a halt, Stiles faces her. “Wait, I’m actually somebody’s type? Whose?”

            She just raises an eyebrow at him, which whoa, creepy, she needs to stop doing things just like Derek. Wait, speaking of Derek –

            “You mean _Derek?”_ he splutters, arms flailing. “Hah, you – Are we thinking about the same Derek here? Permanent scowl, likes to threaten ripping my throat out with his teeth, slams me into walls and steering wheels for fun? That Derek?”

            With a raucous laugh, Laura reaches out and puts a hand on his shoulder before he can step back. “Stiles,” she chortles, “that’s Derek’s idea of flirting, foreplay.”

            “I – Actually, I’m really not surprised,” he says, voice thoughtful, before he remembers himself and backs up a couple steps till his ass hits the edge of the counter in front of the sink. “Wait, no, still makes no sense. Derek doesn’t _like_ me he barely tolerates me! And – and I can’t stand that sourwolf; he’s a major pain in my ass and an insensitive dick.”

            Laura smirks. “Nice try, kid, but even you don’t believe that.”

            “I really, really do.”

            “Then why are you checking your phone every thirty seconds to see if you have a text from him?”

            “Uhh, maybe because his dead sister is in my kitchen and he’s with my dead mother and he said he was going to be here ten minutes ago?”

            “Relax,” she sighs with a roll of her eyes, arms crossed over her chest. “I told you, I’m not going to do anything. And it takes twenty minutes to get here from his loft.”

            Wide-eyed, Stiles stares at her. “How do you know that? Actually, how do you know any of this shit?”

            “I think I’ll wait for baby bro to get here before we have that conversation.”

            He throws up his hands. “Fine, whatever.” Flopping down at the table, Stiles rests his chin on his folded arms. “What’m I supposed to do with you till then?”

            She smiles, and it would be kind of cute and sweet, except her eyes have this sort of predatory gleam to them. “We get to talk about you and Derek,” she answers, sitting down in the chair across from him.

            Groaning, Stiles turns his head so his face is buried in his arms. “We’ve been over this, there is no ‘me and Derek’ because he doesn’t even like me as an acquaintance, let alone ‘romantically’. Jeez, how deaf can you be? I thought you wolves were supposed to have super hearing.”

            “You really believe that, don’t you?” she asks, ignoring his questions, voice sort of sad and surprised.

            He lifts his head slightly. “What, that Derek doesn’t like me?” He snorts. “I can’t get one fucking normal person to like me, what makes you think someone like _Derek,_ with his muscles and stupid face and ridiculous beard and those eyes and – just – his _everything_ is ever gonna like someone like _me_?” He motions to himself to prove his point.

            “I told you,” Laura says quietly, “you’re just his type. Smart, sarcastic, adorable, hot.”

            “Let me stop you right there, sister.” He holds up both hands in front of him then points to himself. “This? There’s nothing hot about this.”

            “God,” she groans, leaning back in her seat and covering her face with her hands, “you two are made for each other with denial and cluelessness like that.”

            “Hey!” Stiles starts to exclaim before he’s interrupted by a familiar rumble. He scrambles out of his seat and out to the front door. “Thank god, you’re finally fucking here. What took you so long?”

            Derek doesn’t answer, just shoves past him and into the house, looking more than slightly uncomfortable.

            “Well hello to you too,” Stiles mutters under his breath, watching Derek sniff at Laura (freak, who just sniffs at people? Oh wait, werewolves), before a voice he hasn’t heard in far, far too long calls his name. “Mama?”

            Smiling up at him – whoa, is that weird or what? Being taller than his mom – Claudia Stilinski looks healthier than the last time he saw her alive, skin pale like his own, bright honey-brown eyes, messy dark brown hair. “Hey, _pieseczku_.”

            Swallowing back a tiny whimper at the pet name, Stiles clutches at the doorframe. “Is it – is it really you?” he asks, voice small.

            Before she can answer Derek’s voice calls from behind, in the living room. “Stiles, get her in here and close the door and blinds.”

            Sniffling slightly, he steps back and lets her in, motioning for her to go ahead and sit on the couch while he does as Derek said, too shook up to snap back sarcastically as he usually does. When he finishes with the blinds and locking the door, Stiles turns around to see his mother and Derek’s sister sitting on the couch and Derek standing in front of them, arms crossed and scowl firmly in place, though his eyes seem a bit bright. Stiles doesn’t mention it, just walks over and stands next to him.

            “What d’you think happened? How can they possibly be here?” he whispers, not wanting Derek to hear his voice crack or wobble.

            He clears his throat before answering. “I don’t know,” he admits grudgingly, “but we’d better get ahold of others, make sure no one else who’s dead is popping up.”

            “Then we’re gonna call Deaton, right?”

            “You should definitely call Deaton,” Laura speaks up before Derek can. “He’ll know what to do, and he can be trusted.”

            “And how do you know that?” Derek growls.

            She just rolls her eyes. “He was mom’s emissary, Derek, do you know nothing?”

            “No, I wasn’t the one being trained to be an alpha!” He looms over her, eyes bright red and nails sharpened into claws.

            On the couch next to Laura, Claudia sits and watches the scene in front of her calmly, which is freaking Stiles the fuck out because how the hell can she be calm?? She didn’t know about werewolves when she was alive!

            Pain, sympathy, and regret burn bright in the female Hale’s eyes. “I know, but you need to suck it up and do your job by taking care of your pack and your territory. Which mean, as great as it is to see you again and to mess with your human,” she doesn’t react when Stiles glares at her, “you need to figure out what’s going on because dead people being brought back to life, or whatever the hell Stiles’ mom and I are? That can’t possibly be a good thing.”

            Searching her face for a few moments, Derek nods in agreement. The eyes and the hands revert back to human as he turns back to Stiles. “You call Scott, find out if there are any others, then have him tell Deaton we’ll be at his office in ten minutes.”

            It’s a struggle to take his eyes off his mother’s face but Stiles does so anyhow so he can glare at Derek. “Why can’t you call Scott?” he challenges because something needs to feel normal right now and picking a fight with Derek is just what he does, not matter the situation.

            Happily, Derek sticks to the script and crowds him toward the wall. “Call Scott,” he says quietly, “because I said so.” Then his voice goes even lower, forcing Stiles to lean slightly forward into his space so he can hear. “While you’re at it you should call Allison too, make sure her mother isn’t back and planning new ways to kill either me or Scott.”

            “Fuck, I hadn’t thought of her coming back.” He stares back at Derek, eyes flitting around his face. “What about Isaac? His dad could come back.”

            “I’ll take care of Isaac, you call Scott and Allison. Got it?”

            He nods until Derek moves away, stopping by the dining room table to pull out his phone. Turning his head, Stiles jumps when Laura’s right in his face, though not nearly as close as Derek had been.

            “Told you,” she says with a smug smirk.

            “What, that?” he asks, motioning at Derek then himself. “That’s normal behavior; he’s done that since we met.”

            “Yes, but you’ve said yourself when you’ve visited my grave: he doesn’t do that to anyone else,” his mother speaks up as she gets off the couch.

            Stiles groans again, thumping his head back against the wall. “Why are you two ganging up on me?”

            They both just smile, all sweet and innocent and nice, and not fooling Stiles at all.

 

* * *

 

            After calling Scott, who agrees to call Deaton and head over there himself, Stiles calls Allison and finds out her mother just left, which puts a whole new worrying spin on this situation. He tells Derek, who tells him Isaac thinks he saw his father a few minutes earlier. So, grabbing his hoodie off the back of a kitchen chair, Stiles rushes out the door and straight toward his Jeep, only to be pulled back by the hood and toward the Camaro.

            “We’re not separating,” Derek says before Stiles can ask, tossing him in the front seat once Laura and Claudia settle in the back.

            Grumbling at the manhandling, Stiles tugs on the seatbelt and fidgets the whole way to the clinic, ignoring Derek’s glower from the driver’s side. When they arrive they all rush inside to find Scott, Allison, Lydia, and Isaac gathered around Deaton, who has an ancient looking book open in front of him on the examination table.

            Looking up, Deaton gives an enigmatic smile. “Laura, I had not expected to see you again. And Mrs. Stilinski, lovely as ever.”

            Both women smile as the others stare, Scott getting this hurt puppy look when he sees Stiles’ mom. He turns it on Stiles, no doubt trying to think of a good thing to say, but Stiles just shakes his head, face as blank and emotionless as he can get it as they stop on the other side of the table.

            “So,” Deaton says, looking around at them all, “do you all know what today is?”

            “Uh, Halloween?” Scott offers up, ending in a question like he knows that’s not the answer Deaton’s looking for.

            “Yes, but do you know what the day originally was?”

            Everyone stares at him, wondering where he’s going with this – well, everyone but Lydia; she just looks vaguely bored, like she has better places to be and better things to do. But she wanted to be kept in the loop from now on so here she is.

            Stiles decides to answer when it looks like no one else will. “Samhain,” he says, shrugging when the others turn their eyes on him. “What? I got bored earlier, so I looked up the history of Halloween.”

            Deaton nods approvingly. “And do you know what is so special about Samhain, Mr. Stilinski?”

            “It’s supposed to be a day we celebrate and communicate with the dead, right? Because the veil to the Otherworld or whatever is thin.” He can feel Derek staring at him, considering, probably realizing why Stiles sent him that text earlier to go to his sister’s grave, but of course he doesn’t say anything.

            “That’s correct.”

            “But why are they actually here?” he asks, motioning at his mother and Laura on either side of himself and Derek. “And Allison’s mom and Isaac’s dad? I thought it was just supposed to be spirits?”

            “You are again correct, Mr. Stilinski,” Deaton says, still with that creepy, knowing smile as he turns the book around for him to look at it, “but when the moon is full and a particularly powerful witch focuses enough, important people in his or her life, and the lives of his or her loved ones, can be brought back for just this night, until the veil closes back up.”

            “Wait, there are witches?” Scott asks, face scrunched.

            Allison cocks her head as she looks at each of them in turn. “I think the more important question is who the witch is.”

            Sighing like she’s completely done with them all, Lydia motions to Stiles. “Isn’t it obvious?” she asks, clearly a rhetorical question. “It’s Stiles.”

            When they all turn to stare at them, each with varying degrees of realization in their eyes, Stiles sputters. “What? Me? A witch?” He laughs, slightly hysterical. “You’re all crazy. Seriously, that’s the stupidest thing any of you have said. Sorry, Lydia.”

            “Stiles,” Deaton says, gaining his attention as he starts to flail a little, his heart beating faster, “I did say you have a spark. That’s why it had to be you who set the mountain ash barrier, remember?”

            “Yeah, but… I thought that was just because I was human,” he protests weakly.

            They keep staring.

            “And – AND you said I had to ‘believe’ for that to work,” he says, grasping at straws. “I certainly don’t remember ‘wishing’ or ‘believing’ that I could bring my mother back to life, let alone Derek’s sister or Allison and Isaac’s psycho parents!”

            “What were you doing this afternoon?”

            Isn’t that a non sequitur?

            “I, uh,” he swallows, feeling Scott’s knowing gaze as he stares at the examination table, “I visited my mom.”

            “And what did you talk about?”

            Jerking his head up so quickly he’s sure he just gave himself whiplash, Stiles glares as hard as he can. “That’s a little personal, don’t you think?”

            Deaton just smiles. “Did you say at any point that you wished your mother was here, that she could help you with something?”

            “I – I don’t know, maybe?”

            “He did,” Claudia answers from his right, making him flail again to signal to her not to say anything about what he told her. She pats his shoulder.

            “And did you do what he asked?”

            She turns to look between him and Derek, a knowing smile on her lips. “I think so – with the help of Derek’s sister, of course.”

            Stiles turns around and sees Laura winking at his mom. God, could this night get any weirder?

            “Then your job is done,” Deaton says, all reasonable and shit. Seriously, does anything flap this guy?

            “I still don’t understand why my father is back,” Isaac says, speaking for the first time, “or Allison’s mother.”

            The vet/(retired) emissary hums. “As I said, if the witch is powerful enough he can bring back people who represented something important to his loved ones.”

            That answer doesn’t seem to please Isaac. Or Allison for that matter.

            “Don’t worry, they won’t be able to cause any harm; they can only be on this plane for a few more hours.”

            “Oookayy,” Stiles says when everyone else is silent, “if that’s all settled I think we’re done here, yeah?” He heads for the door, tugging on Derek’s sleeve – and, actually, he’s been surprisingly mute too.

            Deaton calls after them to be safe, and the rest of the night passes in a weird blur. After his mom and Laura disappear in this puff of smoke Derek leaves and Stiles heads up to his room, more than ready for bed. As he’s pulling down the comforter he hears the window open behind him.

            “You just left literally five minutes ago,” Stiles yawns, straightening up and turning around, “what could you possibly want now?”

            Derek stares, this weird look in his eyes, making Stiles swallow nervously, his heart rate picking up.

            “What?”

            “Your mother talked to me,” Derek says, not breaking eye contact as he prowls closer.

            Stiles can’t look away, though he does back up a couple steps into the backs of his legs hit the edge of his bed. “Yeah?” he responds, voice quiet and trembling slightly. “What’d she say?” He has a feeling he knows, though he hopes he’s wrong.

            Of course, Derek doesn’t answer. “And I’m guessing Laura talked to you.” He’s close enough that Stiles could count his eyelashes, his breath ghosting across Stiles’ lips.

            “She did,” Stiles admits, voice a whisper, his eyes darting between Derek’s own and his lips. “Was she right?”

            “Probably.” Derek’s voice is just as quiet, one hand pulling Stiles’ hips closer, giving Stiles the courage to reach a hand of his own over to twine in the back of Derek’s hair. “She always was.”

            Stiles nods, says, “Good,” and closes his eyes, pulling Derek’s head forward until their lips meet.

            Groaning, Derek tightens the hand on his hip, the other coming up to cup Stiles jaw, thumb stroking the cheekbone as he deepens the kiss. Stiles goes with it willingly, grabbing the lapel of Derek’s jacket so he can drag the other man down onto the bed with him. He flails slight as he falls back (totally not sexy, way to go Stiles) then grunts when Derek’s weight lands on top of him, but after that he can’t really care because the weight feels surprisingly awesome and perfect and Derek is trying to suck his tongue out of his mouth and take off both of their clothes at the same time, making Stiles laugh against his lips.

            “I thought I was supposed to be the overeager virgin in this relationship,” Stiles can’t help but chuckle.

            Derek bites his lip sharply (with blunt human teeth) in retaliation. “Shut up,” he mutters back, kissing Stiles’ mouth one last time before inching his way down Stiles’ body.

            “Oh my god,” Stiles groans up to the ceiling, hand tightening and pulling at Derek’s hair, hips surging up at the vibrations of Derek’s pleased growl (it’s definitely more of a purr) against places that have never felt more than Stiles’ hand. “You – your mouth is awesome.”

            Crawling back up the bed, Derek looms over him, eyes pupil-dark. “Your mouth is probably better,” he says contemplatively, thumbing at Stiles’ parted lips.

            “You did not just --”

            He’s cut off as Derek surges back down, inserting his tongue immediately, and Stiles promptly forgets what he was about to say, too caught up in the feel of Derek everywhere.

 

* * *

 

            Yeah, so, Halloween is _definitely_ his favorite ~~day of the entire year~~ holiday.

**Author's Note:**

> pieseczku - technically 'doggie' but it's supposed to be a cutsie petname sorta deal in Polish


End file.
